


The Ripples In My Memories

by Constellatius



Series: Broken Mirrors [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Case Fic, Cunnilingus, Dean in Panties, Established Relationship, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Happy Sex, M/M, Memories, Mild Gore, Multi, Mystery, Oral Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Thriller, Top Castiel, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:56:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Constellatius/pseuds/Constellatius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The case file said it was just a regular ghost hunt; three kids missing after heading into the haunted house. Dean, Cas and Daphne are all planned for an easy hunt with the rest of the week for a vacation. The house has other ideas concerning Castiel. Something unholy occupies the house, something murderous.</p>
<p>Splitting up was never a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ripples In My Memories

He wakes up from his dream with a frown. Water dripped on his nose as dream Dean waved at him, his arm around Daphne. His stomach lurched, his eyes struggled to focus on his surroundings. He sat up, frowning at the sudden blood rushing to his head making the room spin around him. He checked his arms and legs through his blurred vision. His eyes watered as he scanned the room for any signs of danger, his blade still held tightly in his hand.

Looking around Cas finds he is in the same room he left a few minutes ago. Above him was a hole in the ceiling, gaping, flaking plaster falling on his head. He shakes his head, dust falling around him like snow. Ruffling a hand through his hair, he spots the open door in front of him.

The wall shakes as he opens the door, squeaking hinges echo through the room. He kicks the ugly patterned rug out of the way. His boots catch his eye. They are shiny, almost new. The unmovable stain of vampire blood is gone. He shrugs it off, probably just the light. Cas slides his blade up his sleeve. Best to keep it to hand, something is wrong.

Cas steps around the mess in the hallway, cobwebs hang low, the chandelier hasn’t worked for years. The house is a cliché, abandoned after the last in a long line of old money had died. The gates guarding the place hang crooked and the surrounding lands overgrown. The house sits on the edge of the swamps, alligators snapped at the impala as she drove down the dirt path. Dean has a bet running with Jess that the owners were witches.

Katrina left this place well enough alone. Damages for five miles each way but apart from a broken window and rusted doorknocker the place was in good condition from the outside. The roof hangs low over the deck, windows lined with dark curtains, blood red shadows cast around the rooms. Cas feels a shiver run down his spine, a prickling at the back of his neck. He slides his hand down to his gun.

She feels heavy in his hand, a familiar thing. He knows she holds two bullets. His finger itches on the trigger as something washes over him. He thinks he hears whispering behind him, little chortles of speech. He feels lightheaded again, swaying on his feet his spins around.

Nothing.

He sees nothing but his own reflection. Striding up to the mirror, he stabs at it with his gun.

The mirror hangs halfway up the wall. Decorative frame, cherubs craved in white wood. The frame looks untouched with age. It is a brilliant white, lovingly carved amongst the blood red walls and grey dust. He squints, wrinkles crinkle his blooded skin. Confusion strikes his mind, he knows he heard something.

A light tapping is all he gets in return. He sees himself staring back, an ugly bruise forming on his cheekbone, blood by his hairline, for the first time he notices his shirt is torn. It hangs awkwardly off his shoulder, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The shoulder has split, a tanned slither of skin marred with flourishing bruises. He can see the three black bands around his arms, each one a crown for a fallen brother.

He has his dirty jeans tucked into lace up boots. He thinks he looks younger, different somehow. He blinks twice at his reflection. A shimmer washes over the mirror, it looks like a ripple on a still pool of water. He thinks he must have hit his head harder than he thought. Looking up he sees the high ceilings, he thinks it is quite a way to fall. His temple beats with a painful agony. The smell of dust forces its way into his nose. He sneezes twice, eyes crinkling. His limbs feel groggy and slow.

Regular haunted house, that was the specifications for this mission. Sam had said it himself, pressing the file into Cas’s hands as Dean brought them all coffee. Daphne had offered to take the case, a sly flutter of her lashes as she suggested Dean and Cas joined her. They had funding for a week in New Orleans. The case would take two days at most, leaving plenty of time for the three of them to enjoy themselves. Daphne had shoved Dean towards their room as he nodded enthusiastically.

He blinks again, hand coming up to rub at his tired blue eyes. He feels water on the back of his hand, dust must have fallen in as he fell, causing his eyes to flush it out. The mirror was cold under his fingers as he touched it.

He backed away from his reflection. The house was silent except for his footfalls. Cas feels cold. His torn Henley doing little to protect him from the dusky chill. He shivers. Lips dry and chapped as he runs his tongue over them. His iron knife digs into his thigh. A hand slips into his.

He casts his eyes to his right expecting to see Daphne, the hand too small for Deans. He squeezes around the warm hand. It feels like catching smoke with his fingers. It evaporates out of his touch. A small cloud of dust settles at the base of the huge, decorative wooden door.

Dean’s voice echoes in his head. A throaty laugh followed by a hollow scream. Dean’s grip is painfully tight on his arm, Daphne’s delicate fingers cupping his cheeks.

He frowns, hands flying to his arms and his face. He hisses as he hits the bruise. The pressure disappears off his arms. Dean’s hands are gone, Daphne’s fingers too. Cas checks his watch. The time reads 8:34, his pulse is normal, brainwaves as they should be. It shows no sign of damage to his body. He must still be asleep; this does not make any sense. Logic is a hard thing to apply to the supernatural yet Cas has a list of things with are normal, seeing, feeling his lovers touch him when they aren’t there is not one of them.

The house creaks around him, a shutter knocking against its frame. The portrait to his left hangs proud in a cassetta frame. The subject is short, stooped over, his face is distorted into something akin to demonic, his eyes are lifeless as the watch Cas. He feels unnerved under their deathly gaze. The subject is alone in the portrait except for a mirror hanging in the background, he can almost see water droplets on the reflective surface, it’s probably just the brush strokes he thinks.

Cas pushes open the door, his weight against the old frames, warped slightly by the weather. He mumbles to himself as the door swings open, checking his watch again. He has to meet Daphne and Dean in ten minutes. The door swings back with a pitiful groan.

He is struck by a thirst, his throat dry. The last of his water went a few minutes ago, before he fell. The water bottle left on a table. He heard it fall, plastic crunching as it hit the floor. Human reactions he thinks, distract him from the important things. Cas has often wishes he was more like the supernatural creatures he hunts. His fingers catch on a cobweb, span from each corner of the room. The thin thread snaps under his touch.

This room led him to the grand staircase the first time around, he is sure of it. The maroon walls and skull on the mantelpiece indicate he has walk through here before, he can’t recall the cobwebs. He strains his ears, listening for any sigh of life. He has seen very little sign of the ghost or missing teens. Apart from an old rusted bucket of water, Cas has seen nothing strange. He sees his footsteps leading away from the door.  He follows them through the bowed door frame.

The rumble of thunder takes him by surprise. A storm had been forecasted for tonight, Cas had played with the impala’s radio as Dean grumbled at him. The storm is violent. It batters the house, making her whine and groan under the onslaught of sudden heavy rain. There is no wind tonight, the rain falls like tears from an open sky. He catches lightening in the corner of his eye. He is sure it reflected back in the mirror, pulled distorted figures from the shadows.  He sighs, this will make the dirt track road almost impossible to navigate in their car. Dean will complain about his baby getting dirty. The rain gives a chill to the humidity of New Orleans.

Over the rain, he hears Daphne and Dean bickering. Smiling he heads towards them.

The door is heavy as he pushes it open. It creaks under his palm. None of the doors matches in this house. Each one is intricately carved, the dark wood hosts macabre skulls looming on each edge.

Stepping into the room he is hit with a sense of wrongness. The floor feels spongy under his feet, the light streaming from the windows seems artificial and a juxtaposition to the dreary storm outside. The wood strains under his weight as he steps further into the room. He is in a reception room, it is sterile, lacking any character about from the grand. A room for the owners to show off their incredible wealth. A crimson chaise longue with a gold headboard sits by the golden fireplace, encompassed by four golden lions.

The chaise longue isn’t longer enough to hold all of Dean. His feet swinging off the end. He hears his laugh, deep and throaty. He hears Daphne’s voice under Dean’s laugh. She protests her innocence, Dean throws one hand over the back of the chair. 

He stops dead in his tracks.

It’s wrong.

Dean is wrong. His tattoo is gone, the one sitting pretty on his wrist. An enochian protection symbol matching the tattoo Cas has on his lower back and Daphne’s over her heart.

 Cas reaches out for him. Seeing Dean for the first time, he is taken back. His hair is longer, darker as it curls behind his ears. His cheeks are hallow, he looks malnourished and sick, skin pale and clammy, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, it falls as Daphne looks away. It is silent as she smiles at him, soft and broken. Dean calls her his Nausicaa with a broken smile. He coughs violently.

‘Dean?’ He asks, trying not to let the fear show in his voice. Daphne looks right through him. She wear pale blue scrubs, hair pulled into a messy bun, chocolate brown curls fall over her cheeks. She snaps the hair tie sitting on her wrist; red welts decorate her skin. Her smile falls from her face as she and Dean make eye contact. 

‘Daph? Can you hear me?’ He asks again.

Cas knows she won’t answer. He has seen enough after school specials to know this is a memory. The hazy hue behind would give it away if he didn’t remember this like it was yesterday. He feels his heart crack. He wants to touch, reaching out his hand falls through Dean, smoke drifting off his lovers shoulder. Cas watches as Dean disapparates under his cold fingers. Daphne stays a while longer, her eyes sad as she watches the man in front of her. She is still caught in the memory, her voice breaks on the second syllable.

Cas sees himself, he smiles at Daph, setting down on the chair. He talks in aborted movements, lips twitching as she laughs. He watches the exchange between his past self and Daphne. He sneaks over too her, careful not to touch anything in the memory. He crouches down next to her.

Cold swirls through him, he feels as if he has been dunked into an icy pit. His fingers tremble as he folds them in his lap. His emotion getting the better of him. The floor is damp beneath his aching knees. It soaks through his tight jeans. He feels his heart swell at the memory. Daphne had been all soft words and gentle touches. She stands, kissing his cheek with a faint blush on her cheeks. As he lips make contact they fall into a puff of smoke.

He tries to grab at her, his hand cuts through her. She smells like smoke. She slips through his fingers leaving him staring at a dusty rug. Dean smiles sadly at him, he aches to reach out and touch him. He is smoking away already. Cas feels his heart jolt in his chest as he is left alone. Sudden darkness brought on by the storm. The smoke drifts into his eyes, they sting as he tries to blink it way, defensive tears falling down his cheeks. The salt water settles on his lips, tongue sweeping over his lips to capture the water.

Pulling out his phone he flips on the flashlight, the storm has left the room dank and dark, shadows hover menacingly. The light blinds him , eyes squinting instinctively to shield himself from the brightness.

Blood red curtains hang low, pooling on the floor. The rails fall like water from a cliff side, the musty smell of age surrounds the curtains. They hang still, lifeless even as the windows rattle from the forceful rain.

Cas didn’t notice it before but a grand family portrait hangs over the mantelpiece. Nine family members, each with identical eyes stare through him. They too look grey and lifeless. The mirror hangs in the background. The walls a different pattern this time. The same man from the other portrait is now elderly. He sits with a small child on his knee. Her dusky pink dress spans out over his frail legs. His flashlight strikes the painting in an unearthly glow.

He sees himself reflect back on his second lap around the room. The mirror sits hidden in a corner, obscured by a marble bust. The bust is a cold clinical white, with hollow eyes, dark pits of greedy black. It reminds him of a black hole, cleansing everything in its line of pull. Cas is unnerved by the petrifying gaze, he feels crooked fingers drag over his skull. Sidesteping the bust, he glances at his reflection once again.

His face is half obscured by blinding light. His other bathed in darkness, his cheeks looks hollow and gaunt. His eyes an icy blue with greying lashes as he blinks.

Reaching for the mirror, he feels a prickle at the back of his neck, shaking it off her rationalises it couldn’t be the mirror from upstairs. In a house like this it is more than likely the owners had two mirrors made. A matching set for husband and wife. Cas watches his reflection for a few seconds, brushing off imaginary lint, he straightens up, spinning on his heal he leaves the room.

The mirror ripples behind him.

\------------------------------------------------------------

Dean checks his watch again, tapping his foot. Daphne slumped by his legs, resting her head against him, she yawns widely. Her hand covers her mouth in a delayed reaction. Her hair tickles his hand as he twirls it over his fingers. She had been pacing the room for the last half an hour, she is worried, her finger twitch for something to fiddle with. Dean sighs.

His belly grumbles. Breakfast seems like such a long time ago. Their morning started out with lazy blowjobs in the shower. Daphne had kicked them out of the water stream, her soapy hands smacking his ass. Cas had grumbled about the cold as he swallowed Dean down.

Regal wooden door keeps the heavy rain out of the house. It hits the wood with force, falling water echoing through the house. The storm outside is getting worse and worse, Dean counts seven miles between them and the eye of the storm, She is getting closer to them. Sheriff Jody had warned them about the swamps when it rained. Alligators would crawl up the banks and see shelter under the house. Dean was glad they burnt the bones before they appeared.

The ghost has been taken care of. A runaway kid whole thought staying in an abandoned house was a good idea until flooring had collapsed sending him falling through two floors to a particular gruesome and horrific death. They found the body impaled on a set of spikes. The bones have been burnt, fire doused by the rain.

Two minutes have past when he next checks his watch.

Cas is late.

He is never late to anything by his own doing. Dean is worried. He had tried ringing his best friend but it went straight to answer phone.  The phone rang through as Dean stained his ears to listen for the sound of _Ke$ha_ ringing out through the hallway’s. Cas had downloaded her newest songs and he plays it on repeat. Dean is sure he is just doing it to fuck with him. However, the dirty thrill he gets when Cas and Daphne grind up against him when they dance makes it all worthwhile.

His foot taps as he sings the lyrics under his breath. Dean’s fingers twitch nervously against his gun.

Daphne captures his hand in hers; kissing the heart shaped splatter of freckles on the back of his hand. He squeezes her dainty hand between his. He knows she is worried too. Her green eyes shine with identical fear for their lover.

Daphne complains she is cold, her skin covered in goose bumps. Even as Dean slides his jacket around her shivering shoulders it does little to quell to cold seeking into her bones. She stands, huddling into his warmth; he wraps his arms around her. Chin resting on his leather Jacket. His icy fingers find their way under her shirt. She squeaks, squirming against his hold. His laughter warms his chest.

The mirror across the hall bounces back their reflection; counterparts huddled up together in an intimate embrace. Dean thought he saw it ripple as lightning struck the ground.

Five more minutes.

\--------------------------------------------------

The little hand slides into his palm sticky against his chilly skin. The torn Henley offers little for warmth. The storm has given the night a cold chill. The light hand squeezes around his, tiny fingers tapping against his fingers. He keeps moving.

Noise follows him through the house, whispers and whines from the old house put him on edge, his brain having trouble processing the strange atmosphere of the abandoned house.  

The staircase is nowhere to be seen, his dusty footprints swept away. He follows his instinct. This gut tells him to go right, the door handle damp with today’s earlier humidity.  He hears Dean screaming, crying out for him as the door swings open. His voices begs for Cas. Cas struggles on. He knows if he looks he will see Dean beaten and broken. If he stops, he will never find his way back to his Dean.

Catching his face in his phone, he looks miserable and drained. His frown commonplace, curling his mouth into an unhappy grimace. His phone beeps at him, the battery isn’t going to last much longer. The phone will drain away leaving him to navigate the house in darkness. He creeps around the edge of a hole in the floor. Looking down it goes through two stories, he sees a pool of blood shining under the light of his phone. He thanks god he wasn’t the one to fall through this hole.

Turning left he hears Daphne whimpering in pain, her leg snapped, bone poking through the skin. Jessica’s voice soothes her, her tones tranquilizing as they pacify Daphne’s distress. Cas wishes he could hold Daph as she sobs in pain. He sees the black blood of leviathan splattered over the neighbouring wall. A meat cleaver still clutched in Daphne’s trembling hand. Her cheeks are flushed and tear stained. Jess’s blood covered hand teases through her curled hair, she smiles like a mother to a hurt child. Smoke curls from her hand shrouding the façade.

Cas loses himself in his memories. His feet march him through the house of their own accord. Gabriel screams with joy as he flies through the air from a swing, turning to smoke as he collides with Castiel’s chest. He smiles as he sees a bunny hop around his feet, his foot falls through the brown rabbit smoke flittering under his boot.

The strike of lightening illuminates the corridor. A huge window, shutter blown back, lets Cas see outside. The house over looks swamps, he sees lazy alligators resting on an island. The rain drips off the trees onto the lizards. The waters threaten to breach their banks.

Little feet skip alongside his wide strides. Pattering on the wooden floor, childlike and full of joy. Cas refused to look at the boy skipping beside him. The door on his left hand side hangs crooked, a foot put through the dark wood, it splintered outwards, scattering the floor with wooden chips. To his right a battered staircase. It probably leads down to the servants’ quarters; the case is wood, no fancy designs, nothing to note its importance. The room bathed in a golden hue. He hears hushed whispers of children.

The mirror stands at the end of the corridor.

His phone vibrates in his hand. The motions quakes through his bones. He knows it is Dean checking up on him, ringing him with worry. His flashlight flickers with the call. He can’t tear his eyes away from his reflection. The mossy green of leaves fill the mirror, covering his reflection with his past.

He is eight years old, terrified and lost. Tears run down his cheek as he screams out for his little brother. Samandriel’s hand was in his until it wasn’t. They were not supposed to be in the woods Cas had begged Alfie to come with him. His brother was four years old, still a little unsteady on his feet, his hand me down clothes too big for. He was Cas’s best friend.

Gabriel had double donkey dared him to pick a mushroom from the fairy ring. Everyone knew faeries were dangerous creatures. Anna tells him they steal away naught little children. She was a fairy last Halloween with glittery wings and pinching fingers. Her red hair flashes like fire in the mirror. His eyes are cold as the watch the events he can’t ever forget

He calls out for Samandriel, mushroom held tight in his hands. That’s red too, he is going to give it to Anna. He stumbles in the dirt. His old jeans tear with a gut-wrenching rip, mud coating his knees. He sniffles, tears falling down his cheeks, his knees are bleeding and he is scared. His nose runs as he shouts out for Samandriel.

His dark unruly hair blows in the midsummer breeze.

The mirror ripples, like a pebble dropped in a pond. 

Cas’s childish sobs echo through the empty hallways. He stumbles through the wood until the sun goes down, he hears the howl of something supernatural. He runs as fast as he can back home, falling into Gabriel’s arms with a sob. He holds the mushroom so tight he crushes it.

He feels fat tears roll down his cheeks. Blinking against tears, he sees his baby brother again.

Samandriel smiles at him, face cut from side to side. Cas recoils in horror, Alfie has his bones snapped at awkward angles, his pants torn and his eyes a bright blue, awash with tears. He holds his mangled hand out for Castiel.

His own shaking hand reaches out for Samandriel. He bits back a broken sob; he phone falls uselessly to the floor. Its buzzes incessantly against the floor.

They caught the man who murdered Samandriel, Cas cried about fairies taking his little brother but in the end it was a human. He had stolen Alfie away, taken him to the woods and broken him, destroyed his tiny body. Cas sees his face in his nightmares, laughing as he destroyed everything good in the world. Samandriel snaps his head back, he laughs diabolically at Cas as he sobs.

Sometimes humans are the worst monsters.

\-----------

Cas’s phone rings through to answer machine. Dean has his gun in one hand, his phone in another. Daphne walks alongside him. She holds the flashlight, worry in her eyes. She had kisses Dean square on the lips, desperate and scared as he told her Cas wasn’t answering his phone. She wears his jacket over her; it hangs big, dwarfing her. She huddles inside of it like armour.   

He knew not to panic. His training provided him with a thousand reasons why Cas might not be answering his cell. It could have died, battery drained by the flashlight, signal could be useless this far into the swamps. He could have gotten lost in a house deceptively big. Sam had traced his call. Dean had never been so glad his little brother had been hurt, leg broken and resting at the bunker he was more help to them. He told Dean in a steady voice that Cas was still in the house, in the West Wing. Dean felt his heart racing under his shirt, his training tells him not to panic but his head was not listening. He is filled with the need to find, protect and comfort. Fierce need raced through his veins, infecting every inch of his body. He kept Daphne close, she too was more than capable but splitting up had gotten them into this mess. He wasn’t going to risk losing her too.

‘Dean? Dean are you listening?’ Sam asks down the phone, he is short tempered on his pain medication, broken leg causing his trouble. He was pissed enough at having to sit the hunt out.

‘Yeah Sam, I’m listenin’.’

‘So get this, Jess had just scanned the house. You said you ganked the ghost right?’

‘Yeah, about an hour ago, he’s nothing but dust now.’ Dean replies, Daphne steps ahead of him, her gun aimed for the open door. It flings open with a kick from her foot. ‘We haven’t found the three kids either, Daph and Sheriff Jody think the swamp has got them. Those alligators are fat ugly fuckers.’

Dean hears Jess laugh down the phone and a weak ‘must take after you then.’

Sam huffs out a laugh, Dean rolls his eyes. ‘There are no signs of any other humans, only you three, however we are getting specifications of other Supernaturals.’

‘More ghosts?’ Daph asks as she scans the room. A queen-sized bed sits perfectly made on the south wall. Rain pelts the bay window. A mirror hangs on the north way, Dean sees his confused face, brows furrowed as Sam talks.

‘Could be, but they are powerful ghosts. We can’t get a grasp on the species. Jess thinks its witches.’

‘Jess always thinks its witches.’ Dean argues back. ‘Is this going to affect us getting Cas back?’

‘Dean…’

‘No Sam, I’m not leaving him in here while we wait for specs on a maybe ghost. The Job isn’t more important than him. The council will have to deal. They sent us in here blind.’ Dean rants, he is agitated and worried for Cas.

‘I know Dean. Just be careful, you don’t know what you are up against.’

‘We will be Sammy, ain’t nothing goin’ to get the jump on us.’

Sam hangs up with a gruff, ‘Text me when you find him.’

Dean feels his heart race in his chest, he knows an anxiety attack is coming. His hands shake and his palms sweat. The news of other Supernaturals isn’t that surprising. This is probably why the council palmed his off on the Winchesters. He feels a headache building, a storm behind his eyes as he runs specifications through his head. He forces himself to focus, swallowing down the fear for Cas he indicated towards the broken staircase.

\----------------------

A loud thump cuts through Samandriel, Cas’s hand falls through the air. Smoke fills the mirror; he watches his bother be swallowed up again. He aches all over, his insides feel like lead, every step hurts to make. Cas mentally slaps himself, he needs to get back to Dean and Daphne. His heartbreak over Alfie is soothed as he thinks of his lovers.

The staircase is impossible to get down. The top stairs crumble under his weight, only his tight grip on the bannister stops him from falling. He thinks he hears voices from the bottom of the steps. Dean’s quite muttering to Daphne, their footsteps fall in time with each other. It’s another memory, he thinks as he moves on.

The left of the corridor has another door. Regal and grand, dark wood with angels carved on the panels. If he was in a better mood he would stop to admire the beautiful craftsmanship. The door creeks under his hand as he pushes it. Heavy and damp under clammy skin. It is a welcome relief to the heat racing through him, sweat drips down the back of his neck. His throat burns with the need for water.

The room is empty as he walks thought. Devoid of any life. The wooden floors groan under his footfalls. Cas hears the rain pelt the roof. His hands sweat as he pushes the connecting door open. The mirror captures his reflection like a photograph. His body aches as he turns away from his face.

He sees her, dark hair tumbling over her shoulder. She smiles at him, her soft lips curving into a beautiful smile. She looks young, younger than he can remember. She is bathed in a golden hue. Her gold fleck eyes glisten as she looks at his younger self.

He is seventeen when he is first handed a blade. All bad attitude and cheap cigarettes. His arms are littered with burns and scabs. It fits perfectly in his hand, almost as it was crafted for him. The blade is an elegant silver, pointed tip. It slices through the air like a bird wing. It slices the palm of his hand, bleeding into him as his blood spills onto the floor in smokey drops.

His girlfriend, Ruby tells him she needs his help with something. Ruby stands by his side, her head coming up to his shoulder, her hand caresses his shoulder, dragging over the collar of his beaten up leather jacket. She tosses her chestnut hair as Cas follows her. The smoke curls round her feet as he watches her turn.

Her dad slithers into the scene. He is a hunter too. His eyes are yellow, from a spell a vengeful witch cast on him. He is handsome yet snake like. He slithers around the room, his yellow eyes watching every more Cas makes. The hair on the nap of his neck prickles even now, as he watches than cannibalistic gaze in Azazel eyes.

He twirls his blade thought his young fingers. Meg, Ruby's sister watches him; her eyes look almost black as she reclines against the sofa her heeled boots kicked in Cas’s lap.

Meg disappears with a sultry wave.

Heels clack against the wooden floors as Cas turns left. Each room is interconnected. He is in another bedroom. A child’s room, toys abandoned on the floor as if she left in a hurry. A doll with one arm sits on a cream rocking chair. She looks sad, her head bowed and dress dirty. The chair creeks as Cas touches it. His blade itches under his sleeve, tip grazing his wrist.

The next room is a bathroom. The tiles decorating the floor are cracked, a foot print permanently engraved into the tiles. He hears a hiss from behind him. Reaching up, he yanks back the shower curtain.

Meg sits in the bath, her stomach sliced open. Her torso is naked, jean clad legs hanging over the lip. For the first time Cas sees her defences down. Her eyes are big, scared as she hold a bloody cloth against her stomach. He sees himself kneel down by the bath. His hair shaved on one side, face bloody and cut. Meg smiles at him, her hand tangling in his ripped shirt.

‘This isn’t how I pictured you first seeing me naked, Clarence.’ She laughs, blood bubbles up from her throat. Cas worries his lip. He knows she will not make it without a hospital or even a doctor. ‘You still owe me that fuck.’ She winks at him.

‘Stay awake and I will give you whatever you want.’

She laughs bitterly. ‘I shall hold you to that.’ She says, her breathing is shallow, her pulse slow as Cas strokes her hair from her face. She beckons his forward. Her lips press against his, fingers loose on his neck.

Her corpse fills the room with smoke.

Cas runs out flinging the door shut behind him, his eyes burn from the smoke, from watching Meg die again. Azazel hisses at him from the corner, his flashlight catches his eyes. He scurries away like a rat, a gun in his hand. Blood pools under Cas’s feet.

He runs through the next rooms. The storm intensifies behind him, thunders shakes the foundations of the house. Through the window, he can see alligators heading under the decking. Lightning strikes soon after. His legs burn when he finally falls back against a door. Azazel’s gunshot had followed him through all of the rooms.

His eyes adjust to the dark. Flashlight pointed to the floor. He sees his feet in battered converse, sharpie heart in red next to a skull. His heart raced in chest. He sweeps the flashlight over the room. The mirror hangs in the far corner. He sees Ruby’s hair out of the side of his eye.

She is dressed all in black, her machete looks awkward against her small frame. She stabs a vampire with dead man’s blood needle. The vamp falls to his knees with a pained cry. She swings the blade, vamps disintegrating into dust. Cas sees himself, a little shorter than he is now. His hair too long and nails painted black. His machete dropped to the floor with the vamp twitching next to him. His face is splattered in blood.

The vamp was his first kill; He imagines the face of Samandriel’s murderer as his blade slides through the vampires neck.

Ruby kisses him, his face covered in blood. He slams her against the mirror, taking her hard and fast, her blood soaked hands clenching in his army green jacket. She spirals into smoke as she throws her head back.

The room clears, the mirror ripples as he looks to it. His eyes are nearly grey. Bloodshot and red rimmed. Cas runs a hand through his hair, displacing unruly strands.

The room along is a studio of some sort. Dried paint sits on a pallet. Caps off the paints, stuck to the desk worth years of non-use. The painting is half finished. A beautiful woman sat by a stream. Her skin tanned, feet dipped in the water. She has he back to the artist, her hair tumbling down her back in soft waves, a crown of flowers sits on her head. The painting feels sorrowful as Cas touches it. The painting lifeless and stale.

He spots a sink in the west wall. Brushed left to dry on the rack. Cas shivers despite the still air. Rain pelts hard on the roof. With his throat this dry it is getting hard to swallow. He spots an empty chalice. Old, remarkably clean, gold with rubies decorating the base. He is surprised it is still here, in a house such as this, local opportunistics or the council has normally stripped all things of value.

Cas wonders what case they have been assigned. The case was rejected by hunters in New Orleans. He is grateful for the chance to travel outside of state but this house feels wrong. It should be nothing but stripped surfaces by now, cold interior and ghostly walls. This place feels almost like the owners have stepped out for a while.

The file had been nothing special, thin and lacking in any significant information. Three teenagers have gone missing after visiting the house. If the ghost didn’t get them the swamp would have. They probably didn’t understand what lurked in the depth of the waters, things more terrifying than alligators.

Cas recalls the file. Nothing strikes him as odd, just the ghosts of the house haunting the place. He had been left in peace as they hadn’t become malicious.

Cas runs the tap. It sputters under his hands. For a second he thinks it will cough out a blast of air and dry out. It coughs, pipes groaning at the sudden demand for water. It drips, slow and steadily the stream gets wider. Fresh running water spills out of the faucet. The pale water washes away dust that has gathered in the bowl. Cas fills up the chalice, greedily drinking the cool water.

It slithers down his throat, refreshing him. He starts to feel sick as he gobbles it down. Drinking far too quickly for is body to process. His throat gargles in protest. Dragging the cup away from his damp lips he sucks in gluttonous breaths.

His thirst is insatiable even as he drinks more. The tap stutters as he twists the head, desperate for more water. He slashes it over his face, washing away the blood and sweat. Drops fall down his shirt sending a pleasurable chill through is scorching body.

He drinks till is belly is full rounded slightly under his shirt. Cas places the cup down with soaking fingers. He watches as water drips to the floor.

Refreshed, he notices he is stuck at a crossroads. One door leading left, the other right. Cas shines his flashlight towards the right, the door is missing its handle, the wood twisted and distorted, he feels like he is in a gothic horror novel. His stomach flips as he catches his reflection in the glass window. He feels grey, his eyes pale as he stares at himself.

The right hand door is white, wood in perfect condition a gold door knob melded into a lion’s head twinkles under his light. The door opens with an easy click. Cas sighs in relief. He wasn’t looking forward to kicking down anymore doors.

Inside the room is a wardrobe, he strides over the doors, his face distorted in the shiny knobs. The wardrobe has no back, simply a hole in the back, wood carefully cut away leading to a new room. He raises his eyebrow. Clichés abound in this house.

He hears a car backfire. The sound rebounds though the room, Wardrobe doors shaking with the waves. Cas steps through the doors. He hears the car rumble in the other room, _Marilyn Manson_ screaming out behind him. Cas is twenty years old in that memory.

He hunts alone from then on. Blade and stolen car taking him from state to state. Cas thinks he loses a little bit of himself every time he kills. He is scared that he is going to become dust on the wind. Nothing to tie him down but an old knife and a shitty car. His knife slices through the shifter smoke drifting out of the fallen corpse and through the open doors.

He steps through the gap, dust settles in his nose. Expensive furs rubbing over him. He sneezes three times in quick succession, sniffling back mucus. The water dripping down his neck feels cold and a vexation now. The room is empty expect for a misshapen door.

The anfractuous door rasps as he opens it. It has buckled it its frame no longer a door just a gnarly piece of varnished wood.  Cas walks through the intricately craved frame. Witches dance around the frame. Devil's shoestring is laced in a wreath above the door.

The beige walls hold a collection of curse boxes. Each one locked up in chains with various sigils adorning the edges. Cas recognises one box as holding a luck rabbits foot. A glass box sits unassuming on a shelf surrounds by dusty books. Spell books when Cas looks again. This place is a hot pit for black magic. These books have been banned for centuries. They are handwritten, bound with twine. Cas longs to take one for research. This would be invaluable for their hunts.

As he reaches out he hears a nervous giggle. His hand drops leaving the book on a shelf. The mirror hangs, half obscured by a sheet. His reflection cut in half. The mirror ripples as he drags the sheet away, dust flying in the air.

His mirror-self smiles victoriously at the young boy, slightly tipsy and spilling all his secrets. The boy takes Cas’s scared hand in his own, he cups it like it is treasure, his dainty lips kissing cigarette burns and knife wounds. The boys cheeks are flushed as he speaks, his dark hair ruffled from a hand anxiously dragging through it. He says his name is Inias. He makes no promises as he takes him back to his motel room.

The agent quakes under his tongue, falling apart as Cas swallows him down. Inias comes with a shout of Cas’s name, he shivers out in a cloud of smokes. He leaves in the night. New gun attached to his hip, name signed on a contract.

 

Cas frowns at his reflection. The mirror is still as he touches it.

He is pale and exhausted. Dark bags under his eyes, dry blood on his forehead. He pokes at his skin; it is wet, leathery under his touch. His mouth is dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

Meg sits on a shelf; in her hands she holds a book. In a southern drawl she utters spells from her glossed lips. Her eyes meet his. They are pitch black, iris’ swallowed of all colour, she winks at him, her knife thrown across the room, grazing Cas’s nose.

Smoke drifts across the room. The mirror ripples under his touch. It feels almost like a liquid. He thinks he could reach in and touch the glass. Meg's icy kisses burn his neck. Her cold hands dragging over his weary body. He sighs as she slides around him, her sweet as apple pie scent coils in him.

He knows by now he can't touch her but it finger twitch against his side, he wants to feel her toned body underneath his, her sinful lips breathing dirty words into his mouth. She slides her hands over his chest. Raw chill screams through him, her lips graze his ear in an arctic kiss.

He blinks twice.

She is gone, a puff of smoke in the mirror. When he reaches out his fingers leave prints on the reflective glass. Frowning at the glass he touches it, hands caressing it, looking for any cracks, anything to cause these hallucinations. His gut tells him they aren’t hallucinations but more of a poison running through his lithe frame. Cas curls his fist. He launches it at the glass.

It breaks with a satisfying crack. The mirror splinters under the force of his bleeding knuckles.  The glass falls to the floor, vanishing in each direction. Smoke curls from the mirror. Cas thinks he hears a terminated cry. His flashlight catches a sharp of glass under his boot.

The room opens up through a golden arch; the whole room is bathed in darkness. His phone does little to cut through the shadows. Cas hurries through the room. It feels like something is watching him, he squints into the dark, hoping to find something. The house crepitates around him. He feels an icy breath on his neck. Slapping his hand over the skin with force causes an aching pain to rocket through him.

He spots a door, small and unassuming. He yanks it open with more force than necessary, it flings back, hitting the wall and shaking the antique frames. Cas steps through the doorway, glad to have the dusky light following in from the open window. A crow rests on the windowsill. His feathers wet, eyes yellow. He watches Cas as he reaches behind him for the door, eyes rolling as he thinks of the cliché, next he thinks a ghost will appear with three warnings. He is done with this house now. He wants to get home and get warm. 

The crow caws at him, as if taking offence at Cas’s thoughts of distain. He takes flight through the torrential rain. Cas rolls his eyes again. He hears Dean’s voice under the wing beats. Rounding the corner, he finds the younger man standing tall. He has a cheeky smile in his face. His eyes glistening under the beam of his flashlight. His eyes light up his face.

He remembers this, the room smell of leather, of car engines and citrus. Cas feels the warmth envelop him. Daphne’s perfume clings to his nose, her shy gaps reiterates in his ears. The room is an off white, a big master bedroom. Pale blue featured wall, photographs of scenery hanging off the wall, it is impersonal, a show house. A case involving a muse. Navy trimmings encircle the room, an expert interior designer colour coordinate the whole house. The only colour Cas sees is green. Dean’s hands come to rest on Cas’s waist. His smile had turned predatory, his fingers sheading his shirt. Flannel falling to the floor, his smooth chest covered in goosepimples, Cas watches his chest rise and fall. Dean’s jeans conceal a sizable erection.  

Dean arcs his arms around Cas’ neck pulling him into a dirty kiss. Fingers hook through belt loops, Cas tugs Dean closer with a soft thwack as their chests pressed together. Dean deepens the kiss with a wicked rut against him, Cas hears himself groan. Dean’s hips grind against his and Cas’s hand slide down Dean’s hips, tugging at the waist band of his jeans. He hears a surprised gasp behind him.

Daphne stands there, her hand covering painted lips.

Dean’s legs are wrapped around Cas’ waist, Cas has a hand cupped under his ass. Purple lace pokes out of Dean’s jeans as they slip down his ass. The lacy feels scratchy against his fingertips. He is all but manhandling him. He manipulates into the position he wants, neck exposed to press kisses into his freckled skin. His hands are fisted in Dean’s dirty blonde hair. Daphne stands in the doorway, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, an apology caught on her tongue. Her eyes dilate, Cas sees her in shades of green. She makes an aborted hand movement her, blush deepening as Dean whines against Cas’s neck, panting out curses with the caress of his hands.

His counterpart and Dean both stare at her, Cas blurts out a ‘Daphne!?”

Dean mutters something in his ear thinking now’s good a time as any and Cas looks at him eyebrows raised asking if he’s sure and then smirks at him on the affirmation. Dean nuzzles against the space between his shoulder and neck, Cas’s stubble scratches over his hair. He untangles his hand from Dean’s hair, holding it out for their little lady. She smiles. Shoes kicked off in the doorway, she slides gracefully into Cas’ arms. Her lips touch his with a soft smack. Smoke engulfs them as Dean steals her away for a dirty kiss.

Cas feels his cock twitch in his pants.

Head foggy with arousal and body calling for his lovers, Cas heads towards the staircase. A black spiralling case, baroque steel manipulated into flowers. Roses spiral down the railing, Cas touches one. It feels like a petal wet after the rain. Velvety and delicate under his calloused fingers. It creeks as he puts his feet on the metal. The rail is cold as he walks down the steps, he notices thorns adorn the underside of the rail, a serpents curl round the weight-loading bar.  

His feet fall lightly on to an ancient rug, worn down from generations of feet walking over the flower pattern. He is in a library books sit peacefully on their dusty shelves. It smells of old books with flowers pressed betwixt the pages. Cas thinks if he picked up a book he could breathe in the history, the stories of people who held it in their hands on a Sunday afternoon under the dinner table, of small children on their dads lap as they begged to be read to. The books range from very old, hand bound with leather like pages, written in languages altered beyond familiarity to mass produced self-help books and pulp novels.

Airy gaps flutter out through the stacks. A green hue skulks under the shelves; the smell of turning pages replaced with the scent of freshly baked apple pie and ice cream. To his right he sees Dean and Daphne.

Her longhair falls in natural curls over her breasts, chestnut curves leave her neck exposed. She has a raspberry bruise sucked on her neck, others peppering her pale skin. A passionate bite rests under the curve of her breast almost obscured by her hand. She cups her breast, hand spasming as she rolls her nipple in painted fingertips. Her pleasure rolls off her in sinful waves, she glows in the soft light. Between her legs kneels Dean. His hair mussed from Daphne’s fingers carding their way through his blond locks.

Her gasps float around the round, Cas greedily wants to gather them into his mouth. He hears Dean chuckle happily between her legs. She gasps, sucking in a breath though her plump lips. Dean’s nose bumps her public bone. His eyes shimmer like dewy leaving in the midmorning winter sun. He watches her through half lidded eyes, his own arousal obvious under his sweatpants. Dean pulls away blowing hot air on her cunt, she scrabbles to get him back, her legs shaking, stomach convulsing. Her hand locks into his hair as she guides him back to her soaking sex. He moans around her as her legs wrap around him. She sighs, her fingers stroking over his hair. He smiles wickedly at her.

Cas feels arousal lace through his stomach. Daphne is quivering under Dean’s tongue, her cheeks flushed. Cas palms his cock, watching as she tightens her legs around Dean’s face. Dean ruts against the floor, his cock leaking through his grey pants. Little gasps making her breathless, she pinches her nipple. Daphne comes with a cry; Dean watches her, his eyes shining with pride. Smoke slides around her, eating them up with a gluttonous fury.

Cas wills his arousal to go away. A glass door swings on its rusted hinges, he sees a jungle of green. The glass is dirty, sticky fingerprints covering the glass. Artificial light pour in from the glass roof.

Stepping into an overgrown greenhouse, he sneezes.  A bird coos at him from the branch above his head. The green leaves brush against his arms as he glides through the undergrowth. The room was once dearly loved and cared for, mugs litter the units. Cold tea, congealed and mouldy sits in many. The plants spread out over every spare inch. The glass has shattered in places, cracked and decaying in others. The plants take back the house.

Three small children run around his feet. Gabriel looks up at him with wide chestnut eyes; they glisten with gold. A red haired girl runs into his back. She pushes him forward, her blue eyes matching Cas’s. The youngest girl stumbles, turning to smoke as she falls to the floor. He hacks his way through the tangle of stems and vines. His knife slices with ease through the years of natural growth. The bird caws from his perch.

Cas hears his mother voice as he turns the corner. The sanctuary they have carved out for themselves lays between a tree breaking through the glass roof and untameable violets. She soothes him after a nightmare, gentle hands cupping his face. She looks beautiful, her dark hair flows straight down her back, her blue eye the same shade as his, she wrinkles her nose when little Cas tells her about the bad man in his dreams. His counterpart snuggles into her, holding the wings of his bumblebee tight in his grazed palms. He always thought she was an angel, and with this celestial glow he can see wings cradling him. He heart stutters as she whispers to him, he giggles, hiding his face in her shoulder. He misses her dearly. Her reflection has been cast into a broken shard of glass. Her halo hangs crooked over her head.

Water splashes through the hole in the roof ruining the illusion of his mother. She is gone with a wispy wave of smoke. The room is suddenly too bright for his eyes. Hacking through the twisted tree branches he reaches for the door knob hidden among leafy vines.

The room is deep red, another empty room. The room is his personal hell. Dark read spilling from the walls reminds him of bone and innards. He grumbles under his breath.  The bright light of the glasshouse lost as the door slams shut, forced out of his hand with an incredible pressure.

He growls with frustration, his brow knitting together. His heart races, righteous fury barely held inside of him. His feet heavy on the creaking floor as she stomps through the room, he know he is being childish. His phone buried in his pocket. He navigated the room blind. He stumbles forward, dank hand landing square on the mirror.

It is wet beneath his cool skin.

He sinks his hands into the mirror scooping out water; it washes cool over his face, splashing against his lips as he greedily laps the droplets up. The water slides down his throat, slowing his racing heart. The cool water wraps around his insides. He hears the water through his fingers, pitter-pattering on the floor, he feels the cool drops fall over his boots, bursting over him.

He gasps. Wet hands brushing through his hair. The mirror solidifies beneath his hands. His reflection staring back at him. he looks complacent, blank in his reflection. His chest bare, hair slicked back, eyes an icy blue. His mouth is downturned into a grimace. A vial hangs around his neck. It looks like liquid silver. It reflects the crimson of his bleeding shoulders.

Fingers bite down on his skin in an electric surge.

They bruise, a press away from breaking his skin. He grunts, trying to squirm away from the touch. He feels his lung protesting as smoke materialises behind him. It swirls around his head, trapping him in invisible bounds. He breathes it in, it tastes like bitter lemonade on the back of this throat it fizzes at he takes it down.

Poison. It is poison, Cas thinks. It roots in his lung, budding storks spearing his lungs. His chest feels full. His lungs expanded, breaking his ribs. Cas feels like he is being torn asunder. Legs screaming in agony as he wretched off the floor, he dangles like a rag doll. Sword useless in his hand, his fingers want work. He is detached from his body. His blade clatters to the floor with s definitive slap. It sound like a pin drop in a building site. His brain screams at him to move. To breathe in the toxic flowers blooming under his skin.

Thorns slice at his body. Roses curl over his corpse, his legs still, boneless. He sees blood bloom forward, red painting the white roses. He smells wet grass burning under his feet. He blinks. The mirror ripples as he watches himself be unmade. His thread snags and tears over his thorn crown. The smoke floats upwards, curling around a ghost.

She is beautiful. She stands tall behind him, high cheekbones, flowing auburn hair. Her lips set in a cupid bow. Her olive skin is smooth, undamaged by time or suffering. She has flowers in her hair, circling her head creating a crown sat a top of her head.  She wears nothing but her skin, she glows unearthly silver. Her hands caress over his shoulders, gentle, like water washing over him. He hands curls around his jaw, tilting his head for a kiss. His feels a useless impulse to lurch out of her touch; he goes to her without a complaint. Her touch soothes the anguish, the war growing strong inside of him.

His lips meet hers in a vestal kiss.

Castiel makes no move to deepen the kiss. Her lips are wet against his. He feels nothing, his body disconnected, the flowers inside of him break his skin, soft petals dashed in blood. Cas feels nirvana, the universe shrinks to the feel of her lips on his.

His body wails as her hands move off his shoulders. His conscience is slammed back into him forcing him forward into the mirror. He hears it crack under the projection of his body. The door splinters behind him. Her hands turn malicious, wrapping around his throat. Her crooked fingers curl over his jaw, pressing tightly on his joints. His mouth falls open in a parody of shock. In her crooked hands, she holds a silver vial. Cas relaxes in her arms, he makes his body limp and lifeless. Her hands loosen their hold. A questioning look creeps over her features.

He can see his blade lay on the floor. He forces his body to move. Flinging himself backwards he confused her centre of balance sending them both toppling over. She falls to the floor in a puff of smoke, It curls around him like a snake, constricting and crushing him. His arms falls to the side, fingers grazing the cool metal of his blade as blackness creeps over him.

Dean shouts his name.

\--------------------------------------

Dean kicks the door down.

The ancient wood splitters as his foot makes impact. The sickening crack sends a tendril of pride through him. Dean holds his gun steady despite the panic coursing through him. He heard Cas’s strained grunts from the corridor. Light spilling under the decimated door frame.  His leg tingles as he puts his weight on it, stepping forward.

Daphne stands to his right. Her hair in a wild tangle, she has chunks of wood clinging ti her clothes. Her hand is steady as she holds her knife like a shield.  To anyone who doesn’t know her they would think she was calm and collected, Dean knows better. Under her small frame beats a lion’s heart. She is a solider just as much as Dean. She knows twenty way to kill something with a syringe. She winks at him, her blade glistening in the artificial light.

Dean flies into the room. The element of surprise gone with the kicked in door. He sees Cas held in a snake like embrace. His eyes are cold and lifeless. His chest falls in shallow breaths. The smoke creature hangs above him. Her crooked fingers holding open his jaw. A silver vial dangles on a delicate chain. She is disfigured beauty. She is silent, stealthy and pure power vibrates off her. Her hair flows down her back in limb, thin strands. Dean has his gun trained to her head.

She turns to face him. Her eyes green, he sees his own eyes in hers. She looks through him. Dean feels a disturbance down to his core as barren eyes watch him. Her face contorts into a sick smile. Teeth bared, lips curling.  She watches him, her head tilted to the side like a curious puppy. The flowers in the hair are brown, dead petals falling to the floor around her.

He sees Daphne skirting around the edge of the room. Light on her feet she creeps round the smoke creature. Her knife held in a strong grip. She puts her finger to her lips. The creature floats closer to him. She slithers close, all her attention held on Dean. His fingers itch on the trigger.

Distraction. That is what she needs.

His eyes dart around the room cataloguing every item for his use. Apart from the fireplace and a rug the room is desolate. He spots the mirror hung behind her, smoke obscuring his reflection. He can just about make out a crack running down the middle. He guesses Cas took a swing at it. He sees his knuckles split, a drop of blood rolls down his cheek, drying already in the heat. A single bullet would cause it to shatter, sending the shards flying everywhere, enough for a distraction and for Daphne to grab the creature.

Dean’s heart flutters in his chest, panic unravelling as Cas takes a deep breath, his body reanimating. Dean sees his face reflected back Cas’s blank expression. Cas thrashes in the creatures hold. Hands grabbing uselessly at smoke, he has his blade in his hands for second before it clatters to the floor with a ping. His hands grab at the vial, snatching it from her hands. She brings him up to the air. Smoke creating wings around him, he is limp.

Dean hears running water and Cas’s dead soulless eyes look through him. His beautiful blue eyes turned and icy grey, the wooden frame has darkened, masterfully craved white wood had darkened, twisted and rotted. The cherubs hang by their wings. The smooth intricate twists of the wood have turned into thorny claws. 

Dean fires his gun. Finger dragging back the trigger, a satisfaction explodes forward.

The bullet hits the mirror, shattering it on impact. The frame falls away, water splashing carelessly onto the floor. She creature screams silently, her body becoming corporal. Her hold snake like hold on Cas is gone. He drops to the floor with a heavy thud. The vial clasped in his hands.

The creature launches for Dean with a glass-shattering screech. Her crooked fingers tighten around his neck. He feels his windpipe being crushed under her cool hands. His legs kick out, hands sweeping around desperately for his knife or gun, something to hit her with. His vision stares to blur, black overtaking him. He can feel the floorboards underneath him move with a weight that isn’t his

Her hands still on his neck, keeping him on the line between conscience and unconsciousness. Her eyes are wide, an eerie grey.  She loosens her hold on him, sending him spiralling towards the floor.

Daphne stabs up with her knife. It squelches in her chest as she twists the knife, jerking the body on the end. The creature opens her mouth, blinking twice before water sprays out of her, her body metamorphosing into water droplets. She falls like rain onto the ugly rug.  Daphne is on her knees chest heaving. Dean nods at her.

‘How did you do that?’ He croaks at her, her hands coming up to cup his face, checking him for any damage.

‘She was Mnemosyne.’ She says as if that will explain it all. Dean blinks at her; he knows his face is blank, brain unable to make the connection. She sweeps her thumb over his cheek. ‘She is the goddess of memories. To kill her you have to dip a blade in water from the river Styx. When you broke the mirror I figured that’s where she was sending Cas’s soul, his memories too.’

‘You took a chance?’ Daphne nods, bashful but smiling. ‘That’s my girl.’

\----------------------------

Cas wakes up with his head in Dean’s lap. Daphne has her hand on his bare stomach. He hums as she touches him, her warm fingers sweeping over his abdomen. Dean’s fingers stroke through his slick with sweat hair. Cas isn’t aware he is purring under the touch like a happy cat until Daphne laughs at him. He giggles are like music to his ears, his smiles with his eyes still closed.

He opens his eyes to find Dean leaning over him. He has a splattering of bruises curling down the side of his face. Cas reaches up to touch him. His fingers collide with warm skin, he sighs, caressing Dean.

‘Look who is finally awake.’ Dean whispers, he leans down to kiss Cas, a fleeting kiss which leaves his pouting for more. He sees Daphne roll her eyes as she kisses him too. He slides a hand round the back of her head pulling her in deeper. She sighs into the kiss, her hands resting on his chest.

She pulls back with a happy hum. Cas looks around the room. The mirror is gone, nothing but a pile of ashes on the floor. His blade sits between a smashed glass, silver chair destroyed, chain links peppered all over the room.

He frowns. ‘What happened?’ he asks voice full of confusion.

‘We will explain on the way home.’ Daphne says offering a hand for him.

\-----------------------------------------

After last night’s excitement, Dean decides he wants to stay in their hotel room today. They have upgraded their room, their whole hotel actually. Cas demanded to stay somewhere nicer after nearly dying. Daphne had just kissed both of their cheeks before booking another hotel for them. She has made them promise her never to do something stupid again, like split up.

The room service plates lay on the floor. Half eat food waiting after round three. Dean’s shirt is on the floor. It smells and is dirty but it is the only item if clothing any of them had bothered to put on today. Daphne throws a bottle of water at him. His reactions a little bit sluggish, bruises paying him up. He had stood with a groan, body protesting after a good hour in the same position.

Daphne stumbles on a shirt lying on the ground, falling perfectly into his arms. He catches her with a smile; green eyes shyly gaze up at him. She is bashful, almost innocent. Her short hair frames her face; she blinks twice, straightening up at little. Dean has his arms around her slim waist. She stands on her tiptoes to kiss him. His fingers tangle in her curls. She deepens the kiss, arms looping around his neck. He feels her chest rumble with a giggle. Another pair of hands cups his ass; a pinch through the satin has him gasping into the kiss. Hot kisses burn over his neck, stubble scratching over his aching body.

‘Stay!’ She demands.

She pushes Dean down onto the bed, slithering up his body. Kissing him. She kisses dirty. Her tongue creeps into his mouth, stroking over his. He hands roam over his freckled skin, she pinches his nipple, biting, sucking his bottom into her mouth. Her eyes are open, watching as Cas’s blue eyes stare enviously.

Her chipped nails skirt over the waistband of Dean’s panties. She wears a matching pair. Purple, satin. Sleek against his cock, they slide gloriously over his half hard cock. She cups him through the material, rolling his balls in his hand. Her teeth latched around his nipple, worrying it in her angelic lips.

She kisses down his chest, he watches her hips sway, ass cupped perfectly in satin panties. He knows she is wet underneath them. His cock hardens at the thought of her tight heat around him. She kisses his cock through his panties. A chaste kiss to his leaking tip, he resists the urge to beg for more. He knows what she is doing; it will be worth it once she has her fingers inside of him.

She nibbles his thigh, pushing them open. Her nails scrape over downy hair. He is spread wide, panties pushes to the side, his hungry hole on display.

She watches him. Her fingers slide into her own panties.

His belly tight with anticipation, fingers caught around Cas’s. She gasps, face pressed against Dean’s thigh, her hips humping her hand. One hand slides under him, massaging his ass cheek, pulling it open to get a better view of his hole. Her fingers are wet, glistening with her juices. Dean whines at the thought of her opening him up with her own arousal.

He is still lose from this morning. A quick round before they went out the door. Daphne had woken him up with a sloppy blowjob, Cas already buried inside of him. He came between them with a startled yell. Daph had climbed over him, stealing kisses from him as Cas rocked into her. Bringing them both off with quiet moans.

Dean moans on the end of her finger. She smiles at him, devilishly wicked as she crooks her finger, tapping over his prostate in three short bursts. His hips thrust off the bed, his panties wet, encasing his hard cock. The purple satin tents as his cock jerks. She has lapped over the stain, tongue swirling over his head. His eyes roll back into his head.

She is a master at making him fall apart with only her fingers. Cas mumbles incoherent instructions from the side of him. He opens his eyes to find Cas naked. The dark hair man is flushed, his cock hard and leaking onto his stomach. His happy trail wet with drops of precome.

She slides another finger into him, quick, rough thrusts into him. This isn’t the main show. Dean knows she is gasping to have her pussy eaten. She is a slut for it. Him and Cas both adore the sounds she makes as she falls apart on their tongue. Lazy afternoons spent sharing her between them, trading handjobs as they rest up their jaws, mouths slick with Daphne’s arousal.

The third fingers burns as she slides it inside of him. He gasps around the intrusion. His mouth hanging open as noise flows from him. She is strokes over his prostate, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

‘Daphne.’ Cas says, snapping Dean out of his mind. He looks over to find Cas stroking his cock, his eyes almost black. She smiles at Dean, kissing his hip. She leaves him open and empty.

She settled over him, her legs either side of his cheeks. Cas winks at her, his tongue lapping over her wet cunt. Dean laughs as she falls forward, hands resting on the headboard.

Dean climbs onto Cas’s lap, teasing his hole with Cas’s cock, he slides the tip over his emptiness. The head slides in, Dean clenches around him, milking precome from his lover. Cas bucks up beneath him, impaling Dean on his heavy cock.  

He eats her out like her is starving, like she is the most delicious, ripe piece of fruit. Slick runs down his lips. His nose bumps against her clit. He whimpers into her, his fingers curling over her calves. She has streaks of dirt covering her legs. Dean watches as she writhes on Cas’s tongue.

He moans around her wet cunt, tongue flicking against her clit. He teasing her with soft touches and even softer flicks if his tongue. He would fuck her with his tongue, pointing it inside her, rolling his tongue and making her shake around him, his hands on her hips, keeping he grounded. Maybe one had would slither up her chest and group her boob, he would roll her nipple in his finger, tongue dancing over her clit in a different pattern as he drives her crazy, breathless with pleasure, little gasps and half moans falling from her lips.

She thrashes above him, pleas falling from her lips. Dean knows he has stopped licking her. Hip hips rolling in little circles, Dean clenches tight around him. He scoops up her juices bringing them to her lips so she could taste herself. He beckons Dean forward with slick fingers. His lips wrap around the talent digits. Leaning forward Cas’s cock catches on his rim, they moan in unison. Dean moans around his fingers, clenching over the tip of Cas’s cock. He shudders under their touch.

Dean slides down on to Cas. He moans, drawn out as Cas’s cock drags over his prostate. His hands settle on Daphne’s waist, her small hands lay over his tangling their fingers together. She smiles over her shoulder, mouth falling into a perfect O as Cas flicks his tongue against her clit.

He crosses her clit as she moans. He runs his wet fingers over her body, flicking her nipple with them, grazing her belly with his nails. Dean stills, watching as an angel breaks a nymph. Daphne shakes, her legs quivering around Cas’s face.

He smoothes over her cunt, fingers of his other hand sliding into her as he palmed at her pubic bone, palm massaging her clit through her skin. With a devious grin he laps over her lips, sliding his tongue in between. He takes her apart inch by inch until she is begging for him to make her come, she was so close.

Hips rocking against his tongue, her hands tight in his hair. Dean’s hand squeezes around hers, she moans followed by a sigh of his name. He wishes he were closer to her. Holding her, hands cupping her breasts. He wishes he was the one making her shake and shiver. He wants to taste her perfect little buds, suck them between his teeth, graze them, and feel as her body erupt in goosepimples. He wants to make her come again and again, he wants her to be mad with pleasure, tugging him closer and sobbing because it feels too good.

Cas flicks over her clit before sucking it into his mouth. He groans around her the vibrations and suction bringing her to the edge. Dean rocks his hips, feeling Cas’s cock Drag over his prostate, he chokes back a moan. He wants to hear Daphne fall. She breathes out shallow breathes, her whole body shaking. She is quivers above him, her hands on his head, keeping him steady.  He flattens his tongue and laps over her clit, letting her ride his mouth until she is coming on his tongue, crying with release.

Her release slams through her, leaving her shaking and sobbing Cas’s name. Dean wraps his arms around her, leaning forward, fingers sliding down her tight stomach, circling her clit. She fucks up into his hand. Her cunt smearing wetness over Cas’s chest.

Their bodies slide together as she comes down from her orgasm. Dean his hard against her back, his ass grinding against Cas’s cock. Cas’s is moaning uncontrollably. Dean clenches tight around him.

‘Make him come D.’

Dean nods, his head thrown back, Daphne kissing his neck, fingers tweaking his nipples as he rides Cas’s cock. Cas can do little but take it, Pinned down by the two green eyed beauties.

Dean comes with a cry, his face buried in Daphne’s shoulder. His come spatters over his and Daphne’s stomachs, she smiles at him, her delicate hand falling to his head, running her comforting fingers through his hair. Dean’s hungry hole milks Cas for all he is worth. Cas follows second after. His hips rolling against Dean. He comes silently. Fingers tight on Daphne’s hips, legs against Dean’s back.

Dean rocks his hips, milking the last of the come from himself, his palm curled around his cock. Heart racing in his chest.

Daphne giggles at him as he sighs against her, sticky arms wrapping around her.

Dean nuzzles into her neck; he hears her heartbeat thumbing through his ears. Cas sits up wrapping his arms around them both. Daphne unfs, her little body squashed between her lovers. Deans phone vibrates on the bedside table.

Daphne’s tanned arm reaches out for the phone. Pressing it into Dean’s hand as she kisses Cas breathless.

‘Ello,’ he slurs, a little breathless still, his cock twitches interestedly as Cas moans into Daphne’s mouth, his fingers tweaking Dean’s nipple. He rocks back against his cock still inside of him. He swallows back a moan.

‘Hey Dean,’ Jess’s voice floats through the phone. They exchange pleasantries with a grace formally unknown to the Winchesters. Cas’s fingers slide down Daphne’s taught stomach, brushing his limp cock along the way. ‘They found the kids, they were in Chicago.’

Dean tunes Jess out as she talks. He watches Daphne fuck down onto Cas’s fingers. His fingers slide around her waist, finding her clit and circling the little bud.

He hums distractedly as Jess calls his name. ‘Dean, we have a new case for you.’ He throws his head back allowing room for Cas to kiss his way down his neck and over Daph’s shoulders.

‘What is it?’ Dean stutters out, Cas’s finger pinch his nipple, Daphne slides her fingers to his stretched out hole. He moans, fucking back in to her touch. His movement rocks them all.

‘Are you having sex?’ Jess shrieks down the phone. She lowers her voice, mock whispering down the phone. ‘Is it good?’

Dean blushes, ‘Jess!’ He hisses, laughing down the phone, Cas raised is eyebrow at him. Jess laughs down the phone, he giggles bubbling through the line. ‘What’s the case?’

‘Six murders In Crowley. The sheriff thinks it is supernatural. Check it out?’ She says. She tells him that the email with the specifications is on the way. Jess wishes them good luck, Dean know if she was with them he would get a filthy wink. He hangs with a brief goodbye. The device beeps twice in his hand.

An hour later the Impala growls under Dean’s hands. The road calling her name.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this fic started as a Scooby Doo AU, with an established threesome. It was supposed to only be smut with a tiny bit of plot. I guess it got away from me because five days later I find myself with a whole new verse on my hands.
> 
> I intend to write more in the verse as I have fallen in love with Cas/Dean/Daphne.


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